


A Cold Holiday

by CEO_Of_Crabity



Category: Original Work
Genre: 1st person pov, Gen, Suspense, i literally wrote this for school, kinda creepy ngl, no beta reader we die like men, references references everywhere, sorry to anyone that hates 1st person pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:33:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27579203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CEO_Of_Crabity/pseuds/CEO_Of_Crabity
Summary: Karam goes to check on their neighbor for the holidays. But what happens when the neighbor has been dead for 10 years?Read on and find out.
Kudos: 1





	A Cold Holiday

**Author's Note:**

> This work of fiction was brought to you by Google Translate.  
> Google Translate, you can always count on us to get it wrong.

It was winter at the time. The air was frigid, the trees were iced, and the roads were treacherous to drive on. White, puffy snow had started to fall across the town. Covering the trees and houses in a fashion that was thought to only be in movies.

The houses in the neighborhood were preparing for the holiday season. The calming smell of cinnamon and gingerbread was common in that area. People in the neighborhood cared about each other, a little too much, even. We called our neighbors regularly, shoveled each other’s yards of snow, and came over for dinner. So, when the regular freezing winter came around, it was only normal to ask my old neighbor if he needed help with anything.

He was about 80 years old. Lived there all his life, he did. He never left the town once, not even for vacation. He worked all the time, if he ever took a vacation, he spent it working on fixing his house. When I moved in 8 years ago, he helped me adjust to the new town.

Thinking about my memories with him, I rushed down the stairs, buttoning my coat on the way down. I grabbed my beanie hanging on the wall. Blue and green, my signature beanie, I thought. As I was about to open the door, I realized that the television was still on in the living room, playing some old Christmas movie from the 90s. Eh, I’ll only be gone for a few minutes, knowing him, Mr. DIY I thought.

I opened the door to leave; the snow outside was falling at a steady rate. Walking to his house, I saw families in their homes, baking cookies for Santa. Too bad the man had no family to share his Christmas with. His only child had gone missing when she was 13, and his wife had died over 40 years ago.

“Welp. At least he has his neighbors,” I thought out loud.

Good thing no one else was outside, I didn’t want people to think I was a weirdo. 

I arrived at my neighbor’s doorstep. My bare knuckles red from the cold, rapped the old cedar of the door. A pale, tall, slender woman with a mole under her right eye opened the door. She looked around 30 years old.

“Um. I’m looking for the man that lives here. He’s about 80 years old, he has no wife or kids, and everything he does is DIY. His name is Mr. Waybright.” I was still puzzled about his whereabouts.

“Oh, dear. I’m so sorry. Mr. Waybright has been dead for 10 years.”

Color drained from my face. “What? But, I’ve known him for 8 years. That’s- That’s impossible. Was- Was none of this real?” I started to panic.

“Dear, come inside. It’s cold out, and you shouldn’t have to deal with this on your own.”

The house was completely different then. The old knick-knacks on the wall were replaced with figures of beat up dolls and ceramic bowls. Snapdragons were placed on the shelves. The fireplace stood empty, deprived of any fire. Even in the frigid weather we were having.

“Sure you’re not cold in here?” I asked.

“Oh, no dear, I never get cold.”

“Huh. Cool.”

She sat on a red couch and patted the wooden chair next to her. I sat down. 

“OH! How silly of me! I never told you my name. I’m Willy Schlange. But please, call me Willy.”

“I’m-” I hesitated, “I’m Karam.”

“Well, nice to formally meet you, Karam.” Her words sounded forced, as if they were said through gritted teeth.

“So, what ever happened to Mr. Waybright?”

“His poor heart couldn’t take his wife’s death. After his daughter’s disappearance, everything just seemed to go wrong for him.”

“Oh, well, I hope he does better in the afterlife,” I said sadly.

“I’m sure he is doing very well, dear. Now, would you like some hot chocolate?” She changed the subject so quickly, as if she was avoiding something.

“I would love some, thank you.” 

She walked over to the kitchen, tripping over a burgundy rug on the way. But, there was something under the rug, a trapdoor, probably to a basement.

Huh, I don’t remember Mr. Waybright having a basement. 

To pull myself away from that thought, I went to check on Ms. Schlange in the kitchen. There were more snapdragons in the room.

“What the heck? What’s with this lady and flowers? Is she like, a creepy Willow or something?”

She was turned towards a cabinet, probably grabbing cocoa powder or something. She turned around. Her mole was now under her left eye.

“Um, Ms. Schlange?” I was starting to get anxious.

She didn’t answer. She started to breathe heavily, like an enraged bear or beast of some sort. She started to move towards me. Her eyes became slits, her tongue was now forked, her skin was scaly, and her teeth became fangs.

I was petrified. I couldn’t talk, couldn't breathe. I started to slowly walk backwards. The walk turned into a speed walk. The speed walk became a jog. The jog became a run. The run became a sprint. Every step I took, I knew I was being followed. Step by step, jump by jump, she was always behind me on my tail, waiting.

I was almost out of the house, completely out of breath. Until I was reminded of the red carpet on the floor. I fell to the floor with a thud. There was no running then, she was right behind me. The only way I could go was down.

I forced open the trapdoor, a cold draft following right afterwards. The basement was about 7 feet deep. Luckily, there was a ladder to help me down. The room was dark, cold, and I could tell that there had to be ice on the walls.

“Must be too cold for Ms. Schlange.” I was wrong. She slid down the ladder with ease and towered over me.  
Lights flashed on, there was a skeleton in the corner.

“Mr. Waybright?”

**Author's Note:**

> Four fun facts:
> 
> 1\. Snapdragons symbolize false hope  
> 2\. Schlange means serpent in German  
> 3\. Karam means generosity in Arabic  
> 4\. Mr. Waybright may have been a reference and his daughter going missing at 13 was also a part of that reference
> 
> So, to anyone that's reading this, hi. Yes, I'm that person that has 2 million WIPs and never finishes them. BUT, I'm getting better.


End file.
